


Have You Ever

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Confessions, Drinking Games, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, Spanking, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The twins want to play a game.  Erestor blames the wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You Ever

“Let’s play a game!” Elrohir suggested.

“Oh yes!” Elladan crowed, “Let’s play Have You Ever.”

Already, I regretted joining them for a midnight drink. I didn’t like the sound of this. All the same, I let Lindir shove a goblet of wine in my hand. I’d already had more to drink than usual. And it was late. And I must have been desperate for company. “What’re the rules?”

Glorfindel looked at me. “You’ve never played Have You Ever?” The four of them were shocked.

I shook my head. I held up the clear glass of rich dark wine. It looked black until I held it to the light of the kitchen fire, which -- when cast through the murky substance -- shone red and bright as Greenwood molasses with a spark of gold, like honey. “Well, here’s to learning something new,” I proposed, and my four companions raised their glasses in turn. If I had known what the game would become, what it would immediately lead to, I would not have drunk. I would not have been there.

(But, looking back much later, I’m glad I was.)

Elladan and Elrohir took turns at explaining the rules to me. They were simple, straightforward, and sophomoric, as I might have surmised.

“We take turns asking questions. You can ask a question whenever you like, but not to the same person twice in a row.”

“If someone asks you a question, you have to answer. If you don’t, you take a penalty.”

“Also, you may not ask a direct question that does not start with ‘have you ever.’”

“If you do, you take a penalty.”

I asked, “What makes up a penalty?”

The twins flashed identical smiles. “A dare.”

“I see. How malicious.”

They all laughed and Lindir agreed, “Isn’t it, though?”

I settled myself more firmly in my seat. The table was not large, seating perhaps eight or ten on a good day. Glorfindel and Lindir sat at either end, the warrior to my left, the minstrel to my right. I sat in the middle of one of the longer sides, and the twins were across from me, Elladan to my left, Elrohir on the right. The fire that still burned was in the grate behind them, and at least a dozen uncorked black-glass bottles stood upright on the table, along with various scattered kitchen paraphernalia, including two tall white candles, burning slowly. This room was small, the family’s private cookery and hiding place, connected to the main kitchen by a swinging door.

At this late hour, even the not-so-distant Hall of Fire was deserted. Imladris was quiet. I sat back in the sturdy chair and enjoyed my wine as the twins argued over who would go first. “No, not Glorfindel,” I heard one of them say. “Lindir then,” replied the other.

Finally, they all agreed and Lindir sat up straight, sipping his wine and evaluating each of us in turn with those pale green eyes. He winked at me. I rolled my eyes.

I felt as though I’d known Lindir forever, and that was nearly true.

Eventually, he turned his full attention directly opposite himself, down the short length of the table. “Glorfindel. Have you ever had sexual relations with Erestor?”

Lindir was a fool, I thought, if he didn’t know the answer to that. He’d been listening to too much gossip.  
 Glorfindel sighed, as though with slim sorrow. “No.” Then, he turned the question around. “Lindir, have YOU ever had sexual relations with Erestor?”

I growled into my glass. “I hadn’t realized the intent of the game was humiliate me alone.”

“It’s not,” the twins giggled in one voice. “We’re just curious.”

“And to answer the question,” Lindir said, “Never.”

“But you’ve known each other forever!” Glorfindel protested.

“Yes,” I replied, “But unlike you, we don’t feel the need to drag everyone we know to our beds.”

Glorfindel grunted with wordless mumbles and poured himself more wine.

“Okay, okay, our turn!” Elrohir piped, entirely too excited. “Erestor.”

‘Oh no,’ I thought. Though with a touch of mental sarcasm.

“Have you ever had sex in your office?”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Ah,” I sighed out, recovering myself. “A definite no, there. Sorry to disappoint.”

They did, indeed, seem disappointed. All four of them did.

“Your turn now!” the twins prompted, grey eyes wide in anticipation.

“All right.” I looked back and forth between them. When I voiced my question to both as a pair, rather than to one or the other, I did it unconsciously, and no one seemed to notice. “Have you ever walked in on a couple -- or more (come to think of it) -- in the midst of sexual relations?”

Elladan and Elrohir shared fairly unimpressed looks. “Yes,” they chorused. “Unfortunately.”

Merely from the air of their response, I was tempted to ask who it was. But I remembered the rules and kept my mouth shut. And, I thought after a moment, that wasn’t something I would normally want to know anything about.

I blamed the wine.

But I could see from Glorfindel’s and Lindir’s looks that they were curious too. Lindir shrugged it off with a sip of wine and then looked back to me with a shrug as though to say, ‘guess we’ll never know!’

Glorfindel slapped his hand onto the table and said to the twins, “Tell me, lads, have either of you ever enjoyed role-play in your bed games?”

Elrohir nodded, but Elladan shook his head, and that was all they would say on the matter.

“Hmm,” Glorfindel wondered.

“Erestor,” Lindir caught me off guard. “Have you ever turned down a partner because you had work to do?”

“Yes.”

All four of them groaned. “Workaholic,” Glorfindel grumbled. “Prude,” the twins playfully accused. “Figures,” Lindir chuckled.

“Glorfindel!” the twins declared together. Elladan continued with, “Have you ever . . . you know. Played ‘master’?”

Glorfindel grinned. It was diabolical. “What do you take me for, an amateur? Of course I have.”

The twins flushed red at the thought.

“Glorfindel,” Lindir then pointed out, “You asked a question without ‘have you ever.’”

“It was rhetorical,” Glorfindel argued matter-of-factly. “Not direct.”

“He’s right,” I defended him; I was far from eager to see what sort of dares the twins might come up with.

“Fine,” Elrohir agreed. “We’re not drunk enough for dares yet anyway. You ask a question, Erestor.”

“Okay. Lindir.” I thought he was surely the easiest target. I wouldn’t be likely to say anything that he would take personally, unlike the others. “Have you ever had sexual fantasies about Elrond?”

Before anyone could react, Lindir smiled with a twinkle in his eye and said, “Oh yes.”

“Ooohh,” Glorfindel observed, “good one, Erestor.”

The twins were howling with pain, covering their ears. “Erestor! Why did you ask THAT? Ah! My brain!!”

“Your brains don’t add up to all that much, so surely the pain is not that great,” I told them, not bothering to point out that Elrohir had broken the rules with his question.

We all took a drink after that one.

The twins wanted revenge.

Elladan turned to me, eyes alight. That was the moment I knew I’d made a mistake. Just being there was a mistake. “Erestor,” he asked with sincere curiosity, all attention to me, “Have you ever had sexual fantasies about anyone in this room?”

“Yes.” Dammit! Why couldn’t I lie! Lying was easy; it was something I did everyday to varying degrees; I was a Counselor!

I blamed the wine.

Glorfindel’s eyes were wide with astonishment as the other three laughed themselves silly. “Erestor, who is it? Which one of us?” Glorfindel demanded.

Elladan to the rescue. “Glorfindel, the rules!!! No direct questioning that does not start with ‘have you ever!’ Penalty! Penalty!”

“Blast!” Glorfindel cursed, banging the table with a fist.

I smiled sweetly, sliding a spoon across the table. “Glorfindel, I dare you to perform indecent, sexual acts with this spoon.”

His eyebrows lifted. For a prude, I was impressing him.

He smiled and took the spoon in one hand, examining it. I could see his eyes were worried.

Lindir and the twins were watching with bated breath.

Glorfindel lifted his eyes to the glass fronted cabinets and searched them from where he sat until he found what he was looking for. “Perfect.” He set aside the spoon and stood to stride in great loping steps to retrieve a jar of honey. The jar looked small in his hand. The whole room looked small with him inside it.

A part of myself realized my mind was going off on a tangent as I thought, ‘Glorfindel makes any environ look small. Glorfindel is huge, even for an Elf. Height and breadth combined, Glorfindel is a force to be reckoned with, a legend residing in the same house as myself, an Elf whose strength and power . . .’ I made myself stop then. Strange, drunken thoughts.

I blamed the wine.

Glorfindel unscrewed the jar and dipped in the spoon. “I trust no one finds the addition of honey to be a violation of the rules?”

Lindir shook his head and I sighed heavily. The twins were still waiting, silent, as though the smallest movement or sound might distract Glorfindel from his task.

Then, I had to admit, Glorfindel put on quite a show. Honey, fingers, tongue, searing glances imparted to each of in turn, and spoon. Lips. Mouth. That mouth. I shook my head. “Absolutely sinful.”

We all laughed and Glorfindel recapped the honey. As he stood, though, to put it away, Lindir interrupted. “Leave it out.” He shrugged. “You never know. Could come in handy.” Lindir was pouring himself more wine, and he refilled my cup as well. “Go ahead,” he addressed the twins. “You’ve got him here. Ask him a question.”

They leaned in across the table to stare at me. In one voice (always eerie, no matter how much I heard it) they asked their question together. “Erestor. Have you ever masturbated while thinking about Lindir?”

Very direct, weren’t they?

I sat back in my chair, idly examining the ceiling. I’d no reason, I thought, to lie here. Lindir and I had a deep understanding. We’d known each other too long for such trivialities as this to concern us. I dug through my recollections until I pulled out the memory I was looking for. I smiled gently and addressed the group. “Yes. Once.”

“Just the once?” Lindir echoed. “How disappointing.”

But he didn’t look very disappointed. In fact, he looked quite pleased with himself.

“Go ahead,” Elrohir encouraged me, “Ask Glorfindel one.”

“All right.” I shrugged. I sipped my wine as I ran through the long list of Glorfindel-gossip that I’d heard over the years. I smiled. “So Glorfindel,” here was one I really wanted to know, “have you ever perpetuated a rumor about yourself that was not true?”

“Yes,” he answered with a smile, “but never when there are names involved.”

“Ah, so the story about the three unnamed Lorien sentries and tub full of Cook’s special icing was false?”

Glorfindel’s grin grew wicked. “You know, Erestor, that question did not begin with ‘have you ever.’”

He was right. “Shit.”

“Name your penalty!” Elladan, Elrohir, and Lindir demanded at once.

Perhaps based upon the Lindir-masturbatory-fantasy question, Glorfindel pointed at me and cried, “I dare you . . . to kiss Lindir!”

I was relieved in more ways than I could count.

I turned to my old friend. “Well, Lin, what do you say? Would it be a punishment for you to . . . share a moment with me?”

“Hardly!”

We leaned in, smiling.

Lindir’s lips were soft and inviting; I could still feel the smile there.

I could sense the disappointment from our audience. There was nothing sexual in the kiss, it was a bond of friendship.

“Better’n nothing,” Elladan petulantly griped as we parted.

“Good to hear it,” I replied. “All right, Elladan. Have you ever engaged in indecent activities in a public place?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. But, he blushed.

Elrohir giggled, and saw fit to complete the picture. “It was right in the middle of Lothlorien, on the ground, where anyone could see! Grandfather found them and--”

Elladan slapped him upside the head. “Elrohir! You little squealer! Fine! Have YOU ever let Haldir tie you up?”

“Hey!” Elrohir protested. “You promised, Elladan, you promised you’d never tell anyone!”

Glorfindel and I exchanged looks and raised our glasses to one another. “Guess the answer to that one’s obvious,” I supplied. We drank deeply.

Lindir was doubled over with laughter at the whole thing.

In an effort to stop the twins’ squabbling, I prepared to raise my voice to ask a question. For a moment, I was glad of Imladris’ constant rumor mongering. So many possibilities. I turned to the resident Casanova. “Glorfindel, have you ever used foreign object penetration in your sexual escapades?”

Elladan and Elrohir silenced themselves at once.

And that handsome face slowly reddened, which would have given away the answer even if he hadn’t whispered, “yes.”

Elladan leaned forward with an excited whoop. “What did you USE?”

“Ah-ah,” I chided him. “That doesn’t start with ‘have you ever.’ Glorfindel, propose your penalty.”

If he had been plotting any retaliation, I thought he might have changed his mind, for he flashed me a smile and told Elladan, “I dare you to . . . kiss your brother passionately.”

Elladan sat back and rolled his eyes. “A bit unoriginal, don’t you think?”  
 Elrohir seemed to need to add, “And why should I be the one to suffer for his lack of restraint?” But Elladan didn’t seem to mind this comment. In fact, he ignored it entirely.

They turned to one another, still griping. “Do you know how often we’ve played this game?”

“Do you know how often people dare us to do this?”

“Since you’re such experts,” I observed, “it’s a wonder you so often forget the rules. Maybe you like it,” I teased.

They glared at me, but it was not harsh. And the more they glared, the more the grimaces grew to smiles. They faced one another, and looked into each other’s eyes. Finally, one of them spoke, saying to the other, “He had to throw in the word, ‘passionately’ didn’t he?”

Elladan just laughed and said, “I’ll do my best!” He snuck one hand round the back of Elrohir’s neck and wove the other through loose, midnight hair. Then he drew his twin roughly forward and claimed his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

They went at it for at least a full minute, with moaning and touching and twining of tongues.

I was not unaffected by the sight, and shifted in my seat, hiding as well as I could my face behind my glass.

I blamed the wine.

Glorfindel let out a low whistle and Lindir’s pale silver eyebrows slowly climbed his forehead. “They really go all out, don’t they,” he asked quietly of me.

I nodded.

Abruptly, the twins pulled apart with a synchronized sigh, and downed their nearly full glasses. Then, the twins turned their identical questioning to me again, determinedly not looking at one another. “Erestor, have you ever had sexual relations with a being that wasn’t completely Elven?”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” I saw fit to inform them.

“Answer the question,” Glorfindel demanded.

I rolled my eyes at him. He hated that.

I wondered if the twins always got raunchier as they got drunker, or if this was a lead-in question, a roundabout way of eliminating the possibility that I had slept with their father on occasion. I knew the rumors were out there. I didn’t know what on this poor Middle Earth had started them, but there you have it. “No,” I told the twins. I smiled just a little to myself when I added for their benefit, “And that includes your father.”

They grumbled. Apparently, I wasn’t impressing anyone. Good. I wasn’t playing this game to impress.

I frowned at myself.

Why WAS I going along with this farce?

“So. Elladan. Elrohir.” I had noticed their interested glances over the course of the evening, and many previous evenings. “Have you ever had fantasies about Glorfindel?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

I suppose I was only slightly annoyed that the question hadn’t set them to blushing or giggling or other such adolescent behavior. For once, they were mature about something. I gave a shrug; can’t win ‘em all.

Glorfindel had the decency to blush, but didn’t look at all surprised. Lindir shook his head at me. “You should have known that one’s a give-away. Everyone has fantasies about our dear Balrog slayer.”

Suddenly, the jocular mood broke. The small room thrummed with the sound of Glorfindel pounding the table with a fist, as he stood to glare with hostile fire in his eyes, his chair clattering backwards on the brick floor as the candles sputtered. We were silent. “Don’t. Call me that. Ever.”

All the color had drained from Lindir’s face. “Sorry,” he whispered, holding up his glass is if in excuse. “I forgot.”

The silence was suddenly noticeable as Glorfindel stared down at the minstrel. Then, he lifted a full bottle of wine and leaned across the length of the table to gently clink it against Lindir’s glass. “Here’s to drunken foolishness then,” he offered.

Lindir drank to that, as did we all.

We elders quieted then, as the twins grilled one another with ridiculous questions. I barely paid them any mind. I was thinking about Glorfindel, who was slouched in his seat with a sour look on his face. I had forgotten -- it was easy to forget -- how sensitive he could be. He was always so strong, so fierce. In Council. In battle. And if not that, then he was easygoing about everything else, from his tutorials with the upcoming guards to his bedroom flirtations. It was all too easy to overlook the idea of deep emotion in him, to look only at the surface, not seeing those things that inscribed a sensitivity in him that only revealed itself in sudden, odd moments like this, unexpected and unlooked-for.

One thought a reborn Elf might revel a bit more in those things that had made him a legend.

Oh sure, he accepted what praise came his way, but I think I was one of only a few to see that what Glorfindel wanted, maybe even more than his duties as Captain and Counselor -- more than everything he had by right earned -- he wanted to be normal.

‘Normal’ was not a word I had ever much cared for, but for Glorfindel, ‘normal’ was moments like this, doing silly things with friends who did not see him as a fantastic myth walked from the pages of history. For Glorfindel, ‘normal’ was what he didn’t have. ‘Normal’ would be entering into a room without every head turning, without the whispers. It would be introductions that were not always laced with awe. It would be working alongside his guards without completely enthralling them by everything he did. It would be the freedom to not only bed whom he chose, but to do so knowing that gossip would be not flooding the halls the next day.

For the first time I could recall, I truly pitied him.

I blamed the wine.

The twins had grown quiet and were whispering. The rest of us, drunker than we had been, watched them warily. I sighed both with relief and sympathy when they turned their admiring gazes to their sword master. “Glorfindel,” came the twinned question, “Have you ever called out the wrong name?”

Glorfindel proudly answered, “Never!” Then he added, “At least, not to my knowledge.”

Lindir smiled at Glorfindel. It was far from sweet. “Captain, my Captain,” he sang. “Have you ever . . . been involved . . . with a sheep or goat?”

Glorfindel glared. His answer was a firm and resounding, “No.”

Lindir giggled. He turned to me and mock-whispered, “It was worth it just to see the glare. It rivals yours, Counselor.”

“Don’t call me Counselor when you’re drunk. It’s weird.”

“You think it sounds kinky,” Lindir teased.

“I said no such thing.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“This is silly,” I declared. “Someone ask a question.” Lindir loved to tease me. Of course, I loved to tease him back.

Lindir was staring at Glorfindel. I followed the gaze to find Glorfindel staring at me.

I gulped. It was reflexive.

I didn’t like the way Glorfindel was looking at me. Half predatory, half thoughtful. It was downright frightening. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d lost all interest in the game as a whole. His sole concern was me. “Erestor,” he interrupted another drunken squabble between the twins. “Have you ever had sex with someone above your station? Lord? Prince? . . . King?” he suggested. I casually wondered if there was other Erestor-gossip milling about that I was unaware of.

“No,” I dully answered, as though it were the least interesting thing in the world. Besides, rank and position seemed to be growing less and less important in this modern world. I didn’t, at the time, see what it was that so concerned him.

By this point, the twins were completely hammered. Though they did a good job of hiding it. But I was surprised to witness their shared mind growing only more attuned. Not less. Together, they leaned forward toward me over the table and asked, “Have you ever thought about US that way?”

“You were my students!” I replied, not exactly outraged, more mortified that they dared to question such a thing. “You were like sons to me! No! NO!!”

“You needn’t be so upset,” they told me. “We were just wondering.”

Without warning, Elladan turned to Elrohir, “Brother, have you ever fantasized about Erestor?”

“Elladan!” he squealed in liquor-induced hysteria, “That’s NOT appropriate!”

Another quarrel. Lindir and I exchanged glances and drank our wine.

While they were arguing, I was again running through the Glorfindel’s Sexual Exploits List in my head. “Glorfindel,” I interrupted, turning my darkest glare on him, in a sudden flash of preternatural insight. “Have you ever had sex in my office?”

He smiled at me like a damn cat. “Only once or twice. Or maybe five times. Elrond always liked your desk best. It’s juuuuusssst the right height.”

“Oh, I am going to strangle you!”

Lindir grabbed me and pulled me back into my seat as I lunged for the golden-haired menace. Meanwhile the twins were consoling themselves, holding one another and whimpering. “With Glorfindel?” one of them muttered. “On Erestor’s desk?” murmured the other in traumatized tones.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “I’ll never be able to work in peace again.”

The wine was affecting us all. As surely as I could smell and taste it, I could feel it. It took such great effort to perform the simple task of pouring myself some more wine, not to get the image of Glorfindel and Elrond having sex on my desk out of my head, but hopefully to stop the arousal that the mental picture inspired.

Who took who, I wondered?

Glorfindel was looking at me again. “Erestor,” he slurred, leaning in close, “Do you LUST after me?”

I harrumphed and drank my wine.

“Hey,” Lindir slowly drawled, standing on wobbly feet. “You broke the rules, Glorfindel!” The minstrel found this exceedingly amusing and fell back into his seat with a bubbling sort of snorting laughter.

“Yeah!” shouted Elladan, shoving Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Tried to sneak one in.”

Elrohir was completely subdued when he turned to me. “You get a penalty, Erestor,” he whispered, wide-eyed. He hadn’t quite reached the ‘giddy’ stage yet, apparently.

“Hm. Fine. I dare you to answer your own question, Glorfindel.”

He was dumbfounded. “W-what?” And confused.

“Your. Dare.” I spoke with affected condescension as though to a slow child. “Answer. This.” I repeated his thoughtless question to him, “‘Do you lust after me?’”

He paled considerably. He glared at me then, and downed whatever was left in his cup, a considerable amount. “Only when I’m drunk,” he spitted his spiteful response, eyes dark.

The other three were fairly oblivious to any gravity the situation might have held for Glorfindel and myself. They were laughing, and Lindir was poking Elrohir with a spoon. “Stop that!” the peredhel demanded. “I’m not a badger!”

Elladan snorted another burst of laughter.

In an effort, perhaps, to distance himself from me, Glorfindel turned to the others. “A badger? What are you talking about, Elrohir?”

“Ah-hem,” I cleared my throat. “Rules, Glorfindel.”

“FUCK!!!”

“Penalty, penalty, Elrohir claims a penalty,” Lindir recited in a singsong voice.

Elladan was still laughing.

Elrohir thunked his head down sideways on the table, so that his cheek was pressed against the scarred wood and he was looking cryptically at Glorfindel, as though all of this might help him think.

Then, he smiled.

It was a slow smile, the sort that starts off in the corners of the eyes, that you can follow, watching the mouth curve and widen, the teeth show themselves. “I dare you to--”

“NO!!” Elladan shrieked, his hand darting out to cover Elrohir’s mouth. “You can’t ask him THAT! He’s like a TEACHER!”

Lindir and I exchanged glances again. The twins were truly a marvel. For all their seeming abilities, there were times when I was truly spooked, and there were also the many occasions when they managed to keep secrets from one another. I just shook my head.

Elrohir slowly sat up and pouted. “Fine. I dare you to do a striptease for us.”

My hand flew to my forehead in one of those idiosyncratic gestures that I had tried to wean myself of, but which always returned. I let it. My hand dropped to cover my eyes and I shook my head as though in pain. This was the last thing I needed.

“Oooh!” I heard Lindir coo. “Fun.”

“Oh Tilion, oh Tilion,” I whined to the steersman of Isil. I hated to take anyone’s name in vain, but I pretended an understanding between myself and the Maia. Most of my prayers were directed to the moon, so I was allowed curse it on occasion. A fair trade. The twins had really outdone themselves.

I didn’t look up at the scraping of chair-legs. I refused.

Motion to my right pulled my attention though, as Lindir jumped up, not as light on his feet as usual. “I’ll be RIGHT. BACK.” he said slowly, then ran behind me and past Glorfindel and out the door.

The twins were confused. So was Glorfindel for that matter.

“Well,” I pointed out, “I suppose a proper . . . striptease,” I ground out the word between my teeth, “would need the accompaniment of music.”

“With Glorfindel’s dare pending,” Elladan said, turning to me, “let’s resume the game.”

“Oh Tilion,” I whimpered.

“Erestor,” Elladan persisted.   
“Yes?”

“Have you ever engaged in sexual activity with a fruit or vegetable?”

I groaned at the sheer stupidity of the question. “No.”

Elrohir was eyeing me closely. “Are you lying?”

Lindir chose that moment to reappear. “Penalty, Elrohir; you didn’t start with ‘have you ever.’” Except Lindir slurred his words, so he had actually said, ‘howuevah.’

Despite my best intentions, I laughed along with everything else.

Once he regained his breath, Elladan started, “Have you ever--”

“Can’t-ask-two-in-a-row!” I shouted at him in one quick stream of air.

“Besides,” Elrohir waggled his eyebrows. “Striptease-time.”

I looked at Lindir as he settled himself in his chair. I looked at his instrument. “Oh, not that thing,” I could hear myself whine. It was a stringed apparatus from the far east, with a high-pitched twang. “Ach!”

“Oh calm yourself,” Lindir shrugged off the insult. “It’s perfect for erotic dances.” To demonstrate, he began plucking the strings. It wasn’t even plucking though, really, more as though his fingers could act as tiny bows upon the horsehair filaments and weave each resulting sigh from the instrument as a spider weaves a gossamer web.

A slow-beated rise and fall rhythm began and Glorfindel stood there, looking down at us. He was trying to calm himself.

In the end, he simply sighed and smiled. He closed his eyes, nodding his head and tapping his thigh with three fingers to find the beat.

I realized I was staring.

But I couldn’t look away.

I blamed the wine.

Glorfindel started . . . swaying. With his hips.

Now, I had seen Glorfindel dance. He LOVED dancing. Groups, pairs, masses, fast, slow, ceremonial, spur-of-moment. It shouldn’t, therefore, have surprised me that he could dance like THIS.

I could feel my breath growing shallow, my heart speeding, my palms sweating. I was more aroused than I had been all night. Or than I had been in a good long while, for that matter. I knew that I had grown still as stone, as though I might blend in with the surroundings and go unnoticed from thereon out.

Glorfindel moved to the music, as much as Lindir followed his movements. All embarrassment was gone, as far as I could see. He flashed us smirking smiles. His blue eyes met mine and the smile widened.

Impertinent imp. I was hard as a rock and he hadn’t even taken off any clothes.

He danced over to me and slithered his way onto my lap. He was perched on the end of my knees, his legs off to one side. He was heavy. I glared.

He smiled at me and through his arms about my neck and leaned in.

I still glared.

Even though my blood ran hot and cold at the same time, even though I trembled.

He moved his lips to my ear, kissed the tip, and whispered, “Unlace my shirt.”

I swallowed convulsively and it felt as though an apple was lodged in my throat. I couldn’t hide the shaking of my hands as Glorfindel squirmed in my lap.

I was fairly confident he couldn’t feel my erection, but only fairly.

I could hardly stand having him that close. His heat. His scent.

Had I had fantasies about Glorfindel? Did I lust after him? Of course, of course I did, and for longer than I cared to recall. But my confounded pride couldn’t bear such a weakness, and so it was something I thought I had hidden and hidden well, for a long time. Maybe not. And probably not after this night.

My fingers were clumsy as I pulled at the laces to his pale cotton shirt until it was open nearly to his navel. He braced his hands on my shoulders and slid off me, rubbing against me and at the moment, for just an instant, I hated the clothes between us.

He moved sensually around the table, caressing Lindir as he waltzed by. The song faltered for only a second. Glorfindel left his shirt somewhere on that side of the kitchen. He leaned back up against a counter to toe off his boots.

He did unspeakable things with a cucumber that had been resting on the windowsill.

I covered my mouth in shock.

Then he danced over to the twins and stood between them, encouraging their curious touches. Elladan pulled the tie to his leggings and then Glorfindel moved away, caressing the tabletop. He braced one foot on the seat of his chair and thrust to the beat of the music. His hands flickered over his own skin, touching himself.

Then, he turned his back to us, lowered his leggings to bare his absolutely delectable ass and slid over to hide behind his chair, which was a solid piece of oak, unlike the barred beast of maple that I was sitting in.

The song halted and Glorfindel rested his elbows on the back of the chair, smirking.

“But, we didn’t see--” Elladan began.

“That’s why they call it a tease,” Glorfindel told him, laughing. Still concealed behind the chair, he pulled his britches back on and then swung around to plop back into the chair and drink deeply from his glass.

His skin, a deep tan and darker than most, shone with the lightest filament of sweat.

The four of them continued the game without addressing me, a miracle but a welcome one, and I spent a few moments staring resolutely into my cup, ignoring Glorfindel as much as was possible.

“Lindir,” Glorfindel asked the first question, a sweetness in his voice, “Have you ever done . . . naughty things, with a musical instrument?”

“Um. Yes.”  I spared my friend a glance to find that poor drunken Lindir was red as a radish.

“If I recall,” Lindir then said, eyeing Elrohir with interest, “Elrohir asked Erestor a question without ‘have you ever.’”

“That’s riiiiiiight,” Glorfindel remembered. Glorfindel smiled vindictively. He looked to me and I had no choice but to look back, and he asked, “Make it a good one. For me. Please.”

“All right.” I stood. I slowly wandered the perimeter of the small kitchen, eyeing all my options. “Elrohir,” I slowly ordered, “I dare you to lay down on the table. Face-up. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I heard whispering behind me. I ignored it. Either he would do it or he wouldn’t. I found a promising item drying in the dish rack, and my other inspiration was hiding in a lower cabinet with the confections.

When I turned around, Elrohir was laying on the table as instructed, his knees at Lindir’s end of the table, lower legs dangling, hands fisted beside him, eyes clenched shut. Lindir had scooted his chair to one side and was waiting, watching me. The empty bottles had been removed to the floor, the rest lined up in rows at Glorfindel’s end of the table with a candle on either side of him. Elladan, Glorfindel, and Lindir were holding their wine glasses in hand; Elrohir’s rested to one side of his head.

Elrohir let his eyes squeeze open to squint at me. They widened with curiosity at what I held in my hands. “What’s that?”

“This,” I held up what appeared to be a paintbrush, “Is for icing. And this,” I held up a small metallic jar, “is icing. Chocolate, I believe. Lift up your shirt.”

Elrohir shuddered out a sigh and pulled the dark blue velvet from the band of his breeches.

I came over and set my tools aside. With two fingers, I pulled the tie to the drawstring of his trousers and then wiggled my fingers into the band to pull down the fabric until it was only just covering the important bits.

“Erestor . . .?”

“That’ll do,” I told him.

I eyed the place between groin and navel. Smooth, pale skin stretched taut over muscles heaving with nervousness. I unscrewed the jar and mixed the almost powder-like substance with the long handle of the brush.

I dipped the brush in and swirled it about until I was content that it was suitably covered.  
 Without warning, I turned to Lindir and tested it on his cheek. The smooth bristles left a thin, perfectly sculpted line of chocolate along the minstrel’s rosy cheek. “Hey,” he complained, but was smiling.

Then, I held the brush as a calligraphy pen and braced the ball of my palm on Elrohir’s skin, swiftly sketching a few words along that desirable stretch of skin that was exposed to us.

“It tickles,” he complained, laughing.

I pulled away from my work and I cocked my head to survey the results. I felt one of my lopsided smiles curling in approval.

Elladan leaned over to see what I had written. And burst out laughing.

‘Erestor wuz here.’ The handwriting, I thought, was impeccable. For someone more than half drunk painting chocolate on a squirming canvas. I popped the brush’s smooth bristles into my mouth to suck off the chocolate.

Everyone crowded round to laugh and Elrohir groaned with amused chagrin.

“Erestor,” Lindir chuckled with appreciation, “where DID you come up with that one?”

Elladan and Glorfindel pointed at Lindir and shouted, “PENALTY!”

“Melian!” he swore, throwing up his hands.

Then they all looked at me.

I grinned.

I left the brush by the sink and returned the icing to its place. I poured some more wine and retook my seat. I looked at my friend, into his worried green eyes. “Okay, Lindir, I dare you to lick it off.” I needn’t have pointed to Elrohir sprawled across the table. My intent was obvious.

Lindir pursed his lips and looked at Elrohir. Who blushed.

“Well,” the minstrel observed, setting his wineglass between Elrohir’s legs, near his crotch, “It’s hardly a penalty to do so.”

Lindir came around to Elladan’s side of the table. He placed one hand on either side of Elrohir’s head to hover over him and lean in and whisper in his ear. Whatever it was calmed him and the peredhel smiled and nodded. Lindir kissed his cheek and then moved down. He shook his head and smiled. He held his moon-pale silver hair back with one hand, braced the other on the table, and leaned down to touch a pink tongue to the pale flesh of Elrohir’s belly.

That’s when the door opened.

The five of us turned our heads like hawks, frozen. The first thing I noticed were the largest pair of pale blue eyes I’d ever seen.

The scullery maid stood, immobile, halfway through the door, staring at the sight in what could have been anything from horror to hilarity, but foremost was that utter and overwhelming shock always present when you walk in on a scene of drunken debauchery.

Glorfindel, dear Glorfindel (DEAR Glorfindel? What was I thinking?) stood and bowed and flashed his most charming smile. “Good eve, young maid. Esellen, isn’t it? I’m so sorry that we’ve chosen such a poor place for our boyish antics.” THAT’S what he called this? “Wine?” he offered, holding up a bottle.

“You’re incorrigible,” I spat at him. And he was still shirtless.

Esellen regained momentum. She shook her pretty head, eyes still wide, pale as a sheet, and slowly backed out of the room, the swinging door oscillating just the tiniest bit before it ceased completely.

Everyone burst into paroxysms of laughter. The more we laughed, the funnier it became until Lindir started choking and I had to thump his back with a heavy hand.

By the time we recovered, we were all slouched in our seats, shaking our heads and chuckling, except Elrohir, who remained loyally spread on the table, legs swinging. “Guys? Hey guys? Is, uh, is Lindir gonna finish, or can I get up?”

Lindir responded by standing from the seat he had crashed into. He moved his wine so that he could rest between Elrohir’s spread legs, his silver-white head like ocean’s foam drifting above that luscious, chocolate-written place between navel and groin.

The sight quieted the rest of us. We watched with bated breath as Lindir darted out his tongue to test the line of my name. He hummed his approval and then dragged his tongue in a long slide across the whole mess, smearing the words to smudged meaninglessness as Elrohir’s skin jumped and shifted beneath the surefire tongue.

Encouraging cheers rose from our mouths at the sight, and Lindir finished the job with tiny swipes of his tongue and little kisses.

When he pulled away, his lips were smeared with chocolate and his eyes were bright.

Elrohir swiftly righted himself, practically melted off the table and into his seat, and grabbed up his cup to drink.

“Glorfindel,” I asked, looking into my wine, “Have you ever been chased by an irate husband? Or wife?”

“Only once,” he admitted. “It was a wife,” he added to the twins. He thought to point out, “I learn from my mistakes.” I could hear the smile in his voice, though I did not look up to see it.

Elladan was chuckling. “Elrohir, have you ever let Chief Counselor Erestor write on your body with chocolate and then let Master Minstrel Lindir lick it off?”

Elrohir glared. “Yes.” His answer was quizzical. “You WERE there.”

“Yes,” Elladan agreed through his snorts, “And now I have a really good question to ask you the next time we play this game with the guards!”

Elrohir backhanded his shoulder, but not hard. “Tramp.”

“Pushover.”

“Boys,” I said in my warning voice. They ceased.

“Lindir,” Elladan piped up, “have you ever licked an edible substance off someone’s body previous to tonight?”

“Why yes,” he amiably agreed. “Just ask your father.”

The twins shrieked.

“Wow,” was my response. “You told us you’d had fantasies about Elrond, Lindir. Have you ever acted any of them out?”

“Yes. And Glorfindel was right, Elrond DOES like the height of your desk. It’s just right.”

I suspected he was pulling my leg, (Elrond couldn’t be THAT promiscuous) but I glared just the same.

Glorfindel was laughing with uncontrollable glee at the whole thing.

“Huh,” Elrohir had recovered, “If I were you, Erestor, I’d start locking my office.”

“Very funny.”

“Elrohir,” asked his brother, “have you ever had sex with more than two people at once?”

“No.” He was not offended or unnerved by the question, but seemed curious as to what had prompted it. “Have you ever?”

Elladan shrugged. “No. Not technically.”

Elrohir raised a brow.

“I’m not going to clarify.”

“All right then.”

“Erestor,” Elladan broke in again, “have you ever instigated an orgy?”

I sighed. Was this yet another rumor? Or were the twins inadvertently voicing their own fantasies now? “No,” I told them.

They seemed disappointed. “Why not?” Elladan intoned in a long, high-pitched whine.

I smiled a little smile as the other three lifted their glasses as though to toast and shouted, “Penalty!”

Elladan hung his head. He still whined. “Oh no.”

I stared at him and hid my smile. “I dare you to come over here, and lay across my lap.”

“What?” It was a squeak. The tone of the air suddenly changed. Everyone was quiet.

“You have earned a spanking for your impertinence. It’s less than you deserve. Come.” It seemed a perfectly good idea at the time. I pushed my chair back from the table and held up my hand in a welcoming manner. “I dare you.” I was as monotone and firm as I had ever been as their tutor. I knew the twins would recognize the manner and the tone of voice.

Elladan stood from his chair. Elrohir’s hand was on his twin’s arm, and I did not know if it was there in encouragement or restraint. Elladan stood. But he did not move round the table.

I could sense Glorfindel and Lindir looking back and forth between us. The warrior was smiling. The minstrel was silent.

I did not waver as I stared Elladan down. Our gazes were bound in a contest of wills. Ought he bear the humiliation in good fun? It would be simple to refuse, we were drunk. Or did the idea intrigue him? I spoke then, when I could see the sweat beading on his brow. “You asked me before. Had I ever thought about you? Fantasized about you? I spoke truth when I denied it. I’ve never thought of you or your brother in any way but paternal or friendly. Until tonight. Come here.”

I hoped it was a charming speech. If nothing else, it was truthful.

Elladan stepped aside, and I saw as if in a dream the image of Elrohir’s hand following the velvet of Elladan’s sleeve, as though unable to call him back. The fire lit them from behind. And Elrohir’s eyes were wide.

I wondered if I’d sobered them.

Elladan’s steps were slow. Step by slothful step, he walked round Glorfindel and came toward me. There was fear in his light grey eyes, yes. And curiosity too. And a drunken lust.

He stood at my side, so close I could feel the heat of him. I stared up at him, expressionless. I know I was. I practice.

Without warning, Elladan caught my head in his hands like a vice and leaned down to kiss me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I didn’t really think about it. I kissed him back, tasting the wine mingled between us. I fancied I could taste the curiosity on his tongue, the teasing of his lips.

The other three were hooting and hollering and cheering him on.

When he pulled away, he smiled at me. I felt a bit dazed. Then, he crouched somewhat awkwardly before draping himself across my lap, placid as you please.

My hand automatically settled on his rear.

I made a mistake when I looked up to Elrohir’s eyes, which were stormy but otherwise unreadable. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

I massaged the flesh under my hand. Firm. And the fabric of his leggings was thin. I pulled back my hand and slapped. Hard.

He jumped in my lap and choked back a shocked sound in his throat.

Glorfindel was watching avidly and Lindir looked utterly dumbfounded that I’d actually followed through.

I tried, then, to distance myself, but most of my reason was gone, as evinced by the fact that I was actually doing this. And I couldn’t avoid the fact that I was enjoying it. At least, I couldn’t hide it from myself. I kept my face a mask of non-emotion, perhaps purposely tainted by a faint, noncommittal amusement.

I varied speed, intensity, location, to keep him guessing. Within moments, I felt him grow hard against my thigh.

His entire body was rigid, as though to keep himself steady, but he was trembling.

I stopped. “Get up.” My voice was shaking.

He scrambled off my lap, brushing at his cheeks. I was shocked to see tears there, and I felt my lips part in astonishment. I wanted to apologize, tell him it was a natural physical response. I felt suddenly disgusted with myself.

Elladan stood uncertainly beside me, trembling. Looking at the floor. He clutched at one elbow with the opposite hand and was chewing on his lower lip. His face was flushed with shame and he knew not what to do. I felt guiltier than I had ever done, and was already regretting the evening as a whole, and this incident in particular.

Then, Lindir opened his mouth. I couldn’t know why he then said what he did. Whether it be some drunken insanity, or if it was his own manipulative design from the very start. I thought either to be incredibly stupid. But his were the words that ended the game, and the words that spooked the twins more than I had ever seen them. “Elrohir,” he said. Elrohir’s head canted toward him, but those grey eyes were still trained on his blushing brother. “Elrohir,” Lindir repeated, “Have you ever had a fantasy . . . a fantasy that you acted out only in the dead of night, and far from any other living thing, in the depths of a shuddered room, lit only by a candle, nude and wanton and touching yourself, as you stood before a mirror, dreaming it was your twin who you saw there, rather than your very own reflection?”

As the last word fell, Elrohir’s reaction was immediate. He jumped up, sending his chair back into the fire, which leapt and crackled angrily as intense orange sparks zipped into the air. For another dreamlike moment, his eyes flashed up over to Elladan’s.

Shocked grey and shocked grey.

Elrohir fled, swift and wild as a terrified rabbit, and just as quiet. His feet hardly seemed to touch the red brick floor in the four steps that carried him to the door. He shot through it, the crack of the swinging door against the distant wall resounding like thunder.

The door swung wild as a panicked birdwing, flashing to me glimpses of Elrohir’s retreating form down the darkened kitchen.

Elladan looked as though he’d been betrayed. His look was for Lindir, not for me, and he asked of the minstrel in a broken voice, “What have you done?”

Solemn, and quiet as the grave, he left the room. When he moved through the swinging door, he did so with no more force or effort than a will o’ the wisp.

The scent of burning paint sickened the close air, and Glorfindel jumped up, seizing the singed chair and pulling it out of the fire. He cursed and spun about, sucking a finger into his mouth.

I trusted Lindir only enough to give him one chance. “What was that?”

Lindir pushed away his cup, the wine sloshing messily over the side to spatter the table in droplets like blood. He looked nearly ill. “It’s all for the good,” he told me. “If you can’t believe that, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“For the good?” Glorfindel asked. I was glad that he sounded calmer than I felt. Glorfindel was, in fact, nearly nonchalant. His voice was cool and interested, his countenance concerned and his eyes worried. He was not angry. In my heart, I thanked him for maintaining a tranquility that I could not. I was glad that he had spoken, and not I. “For the good? According to who?”

Lindir answered the question, but he was addressing me. Not Glorfindel. “According to their father. I delivered a message. One that he could not.” Lindir pushed away from the table. “Now,” he said, standing, “If you’ll excuse me, I am wearied and think I will retire for the night.”

Glorfindel resumed sucking his burnt finger and I still sat, staring into the dying fire as Lindir moved slowly and around me and to the door with shaky, wobbling steps.

Then, it was just me and Glorfindel. He took up the last bottle and moved as if to pour himself another glass. “Ah. Fuck it.” He put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. “Mmm,” he sighed. “Better.” He sat down again in his place at the left end of the table. “So, it’s just you and me.” He leered at me, as though the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “And? I felt your eyes upon me as I performed Elrohir’s little dare. HAVE you ever lusted after me, Erestor?”

I slowly stood and his eyes darkened. “I think the game is over, Glorfindel.”

And I left.

I resolved to blame the whole damn night on the wine.

= = = = =

There was a knock upon the door. No one bothered me at night. There was no reason to. I thought there must be some kind of emergency, so I jumped out of bed and slung on my robe to dance across the freezing floor and open the door.

To find Glorfindel standing there, fully clothed once more, all fierce fire in his eyes, a bottle of wine in his hand. “I thought we could continue the game,” he brusquely suggested.

“Is that supposed to convince me to let you in?” I huffed, unimpressed. I had opened the door only a few inches, and braced my foot against the door and floor together. But Glorfindel was drunk and strong. He could still force his way in if he wanted.  
 And that’s precisely what he did.

One firm, flat-handed shove forced the door open. I pulled back my unshod foot to prevent injury. Glorfindel waltzed in as though he owned the place, and slammed the door behind him.

The way he looked at me made me shudder, recoil. I didn’t know what fire had overtaken him, but I was terrified by it. “You’ve no right to trespass here,” I hissed, pulling my robe closer about my otherwise naked form as I fearfully withdrew across the room.

“You opened the door,” he told me, as though this in itself was justification.

“I did NOT invite you in,” I told him, coming to a stop in the middle of my chambers, halfway between the bed and the door. “You are NOT welcome here.”

He shrugged and set the bottle of wine on the nearest surface, my desk. “So make me leave.”

“What?”

“Force me out,” he challenged.

“I can’t,” I willingly told him. “You’re stronger than I am.”

He laughed. “I know.”

“Beast!” I accused murderously.

“You think so?”

“I do now. Are not your common conquests enough? You’ve come to torment me?”

“To taunt and overpower you?” he asked me, smiling. “No. I only want to play the game.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So, you’ll regret your foolishness on the morrow.”   
“You think so?”

“I do.”

He advanced on me then. I trembled, but held my ground. He filled a room like a bull fills a stall built to hold something smaller, threatening to break the whole thing any moment. ‘Tremble’ is a weak word for what I did; I could practically feel my knees knocking together. “Come on, Erestor,” he cajoled, “I just want to continue the game.”

I felt some measure of intelligence or control (or possibly both) break within me. “Glorfindel,” I growled, surprised when he actually halted and took a step back, “you are not a child, you are not an adolescent. I don’t know why the only way you can justify asking me questions is by playing games, except that they are questions you have no business asking. There is something seriously wrong with your state of mind if you think this is the proper way to interact with a fellow living thing, barging into my home and threatening me by your very presence. Glorfindel, I’ve never seen you use your size to intimidate, unless it be an enemy. I did not know you considered me an enemy. Or a conquest.”

“Conquest, no,” Glorfindel stuttered, his eyes widening with shock, sobering. He held up his hands and hunched in on himself and took another step back. “No, not an enemy, I just wanted . . .”

He stared hopelessly at me.

“What?” I grunted angrily. “Why ARE you here? What do you want?”

“The game,” he half-heartedly offered, gesturing over his shoulder in the vague direction of the little kitchen-offshoot we had settled ourselves in. “The questions you answered. I wondered . . . You’ve never had sex, have you?”

I stood.

I stared.

I glowered at him.

I couldn’t think of a proper answer. So, in my foolish, half-drunken anger, I told him, “Your question didn’t begin with ‘have you ever.’”

He was surprised. He drew himself together, standing tall, but not imposing as before. He bowed. “My mistake. I suppose it is your turn to demand a penalty of me.”

Fools. Both of us.

“And what should I ask? You’ve humiliated yourself enough tonight.” I jerkily nodded to the door. “I dare you to leave. And never mention it again.”

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder, as though confused about where his exit might be. He turned back to me. “That’s not acceptable.”

I could feel my eyes widen and jaw drop of their own accord. “Not acceptable?” I repeated in a sputter. “Glorfindel!” I shouted, utterly fed up. “Get OUT of my ROOM!”

“No.” He was calm.

I was not. “Why?!”

“I’m sorry, Erestor.” He was calm, but confused. “I don’t . . . I just wanted . . . I’m sorry. I should go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

He turned his back on me then and shuffled to the door, no more ferocious than a mouse. He stalled, with his hand upon the curving, vine-like handle of brass. He glanced to the side, to the desk. To the bottle of wine. “I made a mistake.”

I shook my head, taking pity on him. “We all made mistakes tonight. S’what happens when you drink to excess.”

He smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll make sure I’m sober the next time I barge into your room in the middle of the night.” Then, he said nothing more. And he stood there unmoving, hand upon the door handle, eyes upon the wine.

I sighed, thoughts sifting clumsily through my mind. Since he had stopped functioning, I stood forward and said, “I hate to part on such bad terms. Let us take one more drink together, and forget the thing entirely.”

His golden head shot up. “Really?”

“Sure.” I shrugged and walked aside, fetching two glasses from a cabinet. At Glorfindel’s raised eyebrows, I explained, “Glorfindel, I’m second in command to all of Imladris. You think I prefer to do all my drinking in the Halls?”

“I suppose not.”

I nodded and took up the bottle to pull the cork. I held both glasses in one hand and poured with the other, a trick I’d picked up from Glorfindel himself. “No indeed. Putting up with the same discussions and arguments and answers year after year? You can bet I come straight home to enjoy a quiet drink by myself. Probably too often.”

Glorfindel took the glass I offered him after putting aside the bottle. We raised our glasses to one another, but neither of us offered a toast. We looked into each other’s eyes. “Here’s to . . .” I began, but couldn’t think of anything.

“To foolish friends,” he suggested.

I touched my glass to his. “Is that what we are?” I asked with a hint of . . . something. Even I didn’t know what. And I drank.

So did he.

We sat. I at my desk, and he in a wooden wicker chair that was used for piling dirty clothes upon. The glasses were emptied and filled and emptied again. Quickly. With nary a word passed between us.

If I’d ever drunk as much as I had that night, I couldn’t recall the occasion. And while I was feeling no pain, so to speak, I was still distantly wary that we were in a unique situation, and swiftly marching into foreign territory that had yet not been identified, let alone covered in all our previous associations.

Glorfindel took the final step, glancing over to the canopied four-poster. “Your bed looks mighty inviting, Counselor.”

I couldn’t help myself, looking over my shoulder at the rumpled bed, lit only by moonlight, pale ruffled sheets glimmering silver.

“You, on the other hand,” he continued, “are as approachable as a porcupine.”

I turned back to look at him. He looked delicious. Huge beast that he was, sprawled on my extra chair, wild gold hair, skin flushed rosy with liquor and maybe something more, eyes bright.

“What are you . . .” I changed my mind and said something else: “That’s not a good idea.”

“What’s not a good idea?”

He always had to push me.

“This isn’t,” I told him. “You, being here in my rooms in the dead of the night. Being drunk together.”

“Of course it’s not a GOOD idea,” Glorfindel agreed. “This is many things, but -- granted -- it’s not a good idea.”

“What would you call it?” I asked him, curious beyond sobriety.

“It’s . . . an adventure. A test. A game. A truth. And . . .”

“And what?” I asked when he lost his nerve and glanced away.

He met my eyes directly. “An inevitability,” he claimed. His nostrils flared a bit at the challenge.

“An inevitability?” I pondered. “How do you figure?”

“We were always going to end up here. One way or another.”

“Where is ‘here?’”

“Here, this place where we are. Knowing that we want one another, but not brave enough to say it, or act on it.” He held up his empty glass. “Even drowned in this stuff, we’re not brave enough.”

“Want? That’s a very . . . ambiguous word.”

“I don’t think so,” he easily contended. Though he was looking away again, concentrating on what he was saying. “I think it’s a very clean word. Easy. Want is easy. Find yourself a synonym, if you prefer. I . . . desire you. I lust after you, as you so deftly turned my words upon me earlier. I long. I crave. I yearn.” Then, he looked into my eyes again. Looked into me. “Don’t you?”

With such a declaration finally set before me so artlessly and yet carefully, after all that we had said and done, how could I say nay? “Aye. I do.”

I felt a rush inside my chest, like fire burning up from my gullet. There it was. Lay bare between us. I felt naked. An emotional nudity. I wondered if he felt the same way.

Not even emotional though, I thought. Merely sensual. What we had been talking about, it had nothing to do with emotion.

Should it?

Glorfindel was worrying his lower lip. “What are you thinking so ponderously about, Erestor? I can hear the gears turning, but I don’t know what you’re working on in there.” He reached forward to affectionately tap the side of my head with two gentle fingers. I inhaled the musk of him. He was Glorfindel, and he smelled of wine and honey and chocolate, and of rose soap and lavender water. The scent of the stable clung to his clothes, and hearthsmoke.

I caught his wrist in my hand as he was pulling back. It was the hand he had burned retrieving the chair from the fire. I tilted my head and brought the hand closer, examining the angry red patch of skin on the pad of his middle finger. It was tiny, really. “I was thinking . . .” I suddenly couldn’t remember. I licked the burn, caressing his finger with my tongue, and then blew on it, to cool and sooth.

I felt Glorfindel’s instinct to pull back in the shocked flinch of his arm, and I heard his indrawn breath. I looked into startled blue eyes. “I was thinking, well.” My eyes flicked toward the bed, “if things go badly, we could just . . . blame the wine.”

“Good. Yes. A plan,” he whispered with a tight breath. “But first you have to answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“HAVE you ever had sex?”

“No.”

Glorfindel couldn’t help himself. He laughed.  
 I was not offended. It was not mocking. And I could see the humor of it, after the night we’d had.

I laughed with him.

“Why ever not, Erestor?”

I shrugged, but I’d come this far. Besides, with all the wine that had loosened my tongue, I doubted I could concentrate enough to lie. “I was afraid. I grew up in a time when sex was practically regarded as sinful. No one ever seemed much interested. I had work to do. Take your pick. They’re all true.”

“You poor Elf.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I don’t feel like less of a person for it. Just . . . less experienced than most.”

Glorfindel was edging closer, so that he was perched upon the very brink of his seat, leaning in to me, reaching out to me. “And, though we be hopelessly drunk, are you ready to rectify this inexperience?”

Having been in a state of half-arousal most of the night, and made only more so by the sight of him, by his words, by his offer, it would have been near impossible to deny him.

“With you? Yes.”

“Then kiss me,” he begged, dropping to his knees between my legs, clasping my face in his large, gentle hands to pull me in.

I went more than willingly. And bowed my head to meet his passionate kiss.

Kissing. That was something I knew. Something I enjoyed on occasion, with those who I trusted and who showed any willingness.

Glorfindel’s kiss was more than anything I’d ever known. I’d known kisses that were sweet, deep, or tender. Kisses that were fierce, possessive, or brutal. I’d never known one single kiss to be all these things together. But that’s what this was.

My body had never reacted, either, so sure and swift to the mere meeting of mouths. The tingle that most kisses excited in me was nothing compared to the lightening-zap that spread through me when Glorfindel’s mouth was opened over mine, unnaturally soft lips sealed to mine, warlike tongue invading. I strove to match him. And funny little needles seemed to prick every inch of my skin as I hardened with a hasty heat between my legs.

I couldn’t have said how long we stayed like that, but we were desperate for breath when we parted. I rested my cheek beside his and thoughtlessly whispered toward his ear, “You taste like honey and wine.” I rubbed my cheek alongside his, because it felt so good, and stole fingers into his golden hair. My tongue snuck out and I leaned forward to taste the tip of his ear. “You smell good, like soap and smoke.” My other hand pulled helplessly at his half-done up shirt. “I want you.”

He breathed heavily close to my ear. “‘Want’ IS a good word, isn’t it?” he whispered. His voice was rougher than usual, abraded with lust and breathlessness.

I nodded against him and pulled at his shirt again, as though I couldn’t fathom how such a thing had got there. Or how to remove it.

I wanted to look into his eyes, and it took me a minute to figure out that I’d have to pull back in order to do so. I did, leaning back and framing his handsome face in my hands. I was trying to be gentle, but I worried that I might misjudge my strength, what with the wine. I openly stared into sky-blue eyes, glancing from one to the other. “You’re pretty.”

“No,” he corrected me with a smile. “YOU’RE pretty. I’m handsome.”

“I’m not pretty,” I lightly argued.

“Beautiful then.”

I shook my head.

“Why do you shake your head?” he asked. “You are,” he took my hands away from his face and reached out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. I shivered. “You are beautiful.”

I’d never considered myself particularly attractive. When I looked into mirrors, I just saw me. I looked much like my mother. “You would be the first to think so.”

Glorfindel laughed and shook his head. “Maybe only the first brave enough to tell you so.” His gaze was innocently lecherous as he looked from my face to my neck, where my robe gaped open. “I’ve never seen you naked.”

“I prefer the bathhouse at night.”

“Prude.”

“Yes.”

But I stood then, and he sat back on his heels, still on the floor. I pulled at the cord that was my belt and let my robe pool to the floor. I never would have done if I’d let myself think about it, if I’d been sober.

Glorfindel gasped and I could see his eyes widened.

I thought I would be embarrassed. I wasn’t. But I was a little nervous. My hands twisted together before me and I looked down at him. “Well don’t just sit there,” I begged in a whisper. “Do something.”

Slowly, he stood. He still looked too surprised to manage much of a smile. He tugged his shirt over his head.

I gasped, as though surprised. I was merely reminded of the height of him, the broadness of shoulders and chest. He didn’t quite tower over me, but it felt that way. And he was easily twice as wide as myself.

They said he was the strongest Elf that ever lived, and the only Elf that ever lived twice. I believed it.

He must have seen fear in my eyes, though I wasn’t aware of it. He looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Will it hurt?” I asked abruptly.

“You mean . . . ? Depends on what we do.” He shook his head and smiled. “It won’t hurt.”

“Good.”

We stood there for a moment. I felt the blood coursing through me, and it seemed I could feel the heaviness of the liquor in my veins. I turned away and walked to the bed with heavy steps and ungainly arms. I pulled away the rumpled covers and sat upon the mattress.

With more distance between us, there seemed to be more awkwardness as well. Glorfindel used the desk to brace himself as he removed the rest of his clothes.

He took a step toward me and stopped. “What do you want . . . what do you want to do?” he asked me.

I didn’t really know. “I just . . . whatever feels good. I want to feel good.”

“No no,” he corrected me, stalking toward the bed, “you want to feel GREAT. That’s what you mean.”

“If you say so.” I felt the smile on my face tremble.

Glorfindel frowned a bit as he sat a decent distance away on the bed. “Still afraid?”

I nodded.

“I hope you don’t always have to be this drunk to have sex.”

I was confused. “Why?”

“Because I’m not always patient.”

I felt another one of those thick, reflexive swallows in my throat. “You planning to do this again? W-with me?”

Glorfindel shifted slowly closer, as though I wouldn’t notice. I did notice that he -- to my eyes -- was extraordinarily well endowed, with an organ to match his size, and a very aroused one at that. “Because, Erestorrr,” he purred my name and I shuddered, “I thought you were a perfectionist. And you know that practice makes perfect. And of course,” he added, “Perfection is such a hard thing to judge when it comes to food, art, and sex, so we’ll just have to keep at it, till we’re sure.”

“You’re rambling.”

“Do you have oil?”

I raised a brow.

“Silly question,” he said of himself. “Anything?” he asked. “Lantern oil? Lotion?”

“Oh wait,” I remembered, standing from the bed. “I use this on my hair sometimes.” I fetched the bottle from the top of the dresser. I smiled at him and held it up. “Oil.”

“Must be expensive.” He didn’t actually seem that concerned.

“Worth it,” I told him of the indulgence.

A part of me wondered that we were still talking and relatively coherent when all I wanted to do was throw myself at him.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t really know what to do with him once I had him. So I took out the stopper and set the vial down on the bedside cabinet.

I sat down again, unable to stop myself looking at him, as he did me. I pressed my knees together and hunched over in my nervousness. They were unconscious gestures I wasn’t aware of until Glorfindel set his great paw on my shoulder and snuck around to massage the base of my skull. “Relax.”

I thought of the wine. I could still feel it, a sluggish clumsy thrill all through me. I scooted back and lay down, aligning myself on the bed. I let my legs fall apart, my arms loose at my sides. I had closed my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

I opened them again. I saw Glorfindel leaning worriedly over me. “I have no idea,” I told him. “Thought I’d let you lead.”

“Well,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “It is a bit like dancing. All right. I’ll lead. But you still have to dance.”

I reached out to caress his cheek. “I can do that.” Curious, I let my hand drift. The backs of my knuckles ran along a strong throat. The pads of my fingers dragged along a prominent collarbone. My thumb hesitantly scraped one of the pebbled nubs on his chest and he groaned, low and deep, a sound that resonated straight to my cock like a tuning fork.

I let my hand fall away then, too frightened to do anything more. I’d never touched anyone in such a way.

He came nearer, and I gasped. “What’s wrong?” he managed to whisper through his lust.

“You’re so huge,” I met his whisper, “I fear you’ll half-crush me to death.” It was true. He loomed over me like a creature out of a fairytale, a nightmare to press the life out of me. Though a shockingly beautiful one.

He grinned down at me and then fell onto his back beside me. Before I could comment, he rolled me atop him and we groaned and writhed and thrust when our organs were mashed between our bellies. It was suddenly thoughtless, and -- at the same time -- I suddenly understood. I didn’t know what to do, but my body did. Like a memory already inscribed at birth, an instinct, like animals have. I knew how to kiss all along his jaw and how to suckle the soft skin at his neck. I knew that I was allowed to touch him anywhere, and virtually however I wished. I knew how to wrap my legs about his so that we were touching all over and I knew how to kiss him at the same time.

“Do you want . . . to do anything else?” he huffed heavily between kisses.

I blinked and slowed the heavenly friction. “There’s more?”

He laughed.

My eyes seemed a bit unfocused as I looked down at him.

He reached between us, snaking between our sweat-slick bodies, to cradle my hardness in his huge hand. His lips hovered at my ear. “You could put this inside me.”

I nearly came.

I know I cried out, wordless at the very suggestion, the mere thought.

Glorfindel smiled up at me. “I’ll get the oil.”

I let him push me aside so that he could grab the vial and sit up. It seemed surreal, unreal. He poured oil into his hand and then sheathed my cock with it. I thrust. It was awkward. I was half on my back and half on my side and didn’t think to find a better position. “That’s you,” he said. “Now for me,” as though this was something he did everyday. (Which it was, if you believed the more ambitious rumors.)

I backed up toward the headboard and roughly pushed and piled the pillows behind me. I watched as Glorfindel kneeled upright on the bed, facing away from me. I watched him slide two oiled fingers toward the tiny, puckered entrance. He massaged the spot and then breached himself. “By Tilion’s chariot,” I cursed under my breath. I’d never seen anything like it.

My hips were moving in helpless little thrusts, though I refrained from touching myself.

I could hear myself, making some noises in my throat, though I tried to suppress them. I suppose you could call them whimpers. “Glorfindel,” I whispered. He moaned and forced his fingers deeper. “Aiya!”

It was funny, I thought, how I could feel light and heavy at the same time. My limbs were heavy, my body. But my head felt distant and floating. And my cock wanted. My body wanted. I wanted. ‘Want’ was a good word, I decided.

Glorfindel must have decided he was ready. He stretched out on his knees to reach for the bedside cabinet and put down the oil. He looked over at me with heavy, hooded eyes. “How do you want me?”

I laughed. It struck me as exceptionally amusing.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose. The corners of his mouth lifted. “What?”

“I just WANT you,” I told him, trying to suppress the jittery nervous laughter that welled up hopelessly from my lungs. I reached out and cupped his chin. I was barely touching him. I looked into his eyes as he looked into mine. “Want,” I whispered.

His eyes burned.

He growled and moved over me.

But I was not afraid, as before. I wanted him there. I just wanted him.

He straddled my hips and sat up, deliberately moving the cleft of his ass against my engorged cock. I moved in response.

I saw him reach behind, and then felt him take me in hand. He guided me. I had to do nothing.

I did nothing but feel. Heat. Tight. Hot. Need. Words were lost to me. I moaned something like his name. Like before, my body knew what to do. I thrust. He groaned. My hands grabbed for his hips. He braced himself on my shoulders. That’s how we moved.

There was an intensity of touch. I felt everything, every nuance, every flaw of his skin, every sweat drop on my body, every flash of pleasure that struck at me where we were joined and then coiled about us.

I yelped when one of his hands left its post, smoothing down my chest to rub my nipple in circles with his palm.

I followed his lead. Of their own accord, my hands slid a trail up his belly to return the favor double-fold. I smiled to hear the moans that escaped his mouth.

My body knew what to do. I dropped one of my hands to encircle his organ. It felt different to mine in a way. More textured. Definitely larger. Hot and hard and I just gently touched it. He whined, a high keening noise. “Not so light,” he begged with a gasp, “touch me harder.”

I firmed my grip and stroked him even as I stroked within him, as he rose and fell and touched my chest.

I could sense our movements growing more frantic, loosing what control we attempted to maintain. Our bodies took over completely, as though there was no will left in us. I thought it was frightening, if I thought at all. I felt more than I thought. I was frightened and exhilarated. Thrilled.

“Kiss me,” I demanded, unthinking.

But he did. He leaned down and I leaned up. We were connected in more ways than I could count, all of them physical.

I couldn’t remember specifics after that. Just pure, blinding pleasure.

= = = = =

It was nothing like I’d ever known. Compared to this, the pleasure occasionally sought by my own hand paled like a dove beside a swan. The dove is beautiful, but so is the swan, and the swan is just a whole lot bigger.

I felt his body contract around me, I felt him spill himself over my hand, and I felt his moan in my mouth more surely than I heard it.

My answering release was precisely that, a release. Of so much.

Glorfindel was considerate enough to loose me from his body slowly and then move off to lie beside me.

I turned my head to the side to hide my tears. I didn’t know what caused them. An instinctual response that I did not understand as waves of I-did-not-know-what rolled through my body to crash just this side of madness.

When Glorfindel forced my head around to face him and kissed those tears away, I only wept all the harder. I felt like a child.

Glorfindel slung his arm over my shoulder to comfort me, but it was a light touch, so I knew that he was nervous, and nearly as uncertain as myself. I rubbed my tears away into the pillows to look at him and see that he didn’t quite know what to do. I forced the tears to an end.

He tried not to look relieved.

I curled up into a ball. He was close to me, but no longer touching. I could see sleep dancing at the edges of his eyes. He whispered in a coarsened voice, “Erestor, would you like me to stay or to go?”

Go? It hadn’t occurred to me that he would leave.

“Stay.”

The room was silence. Then:

“All right.” He reached down and pulled the covers over both of us.

= = = = = = = = = =

Glorfindel woke me very early the next morning to tell me he was going. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t know what to say.

That week, things were awkward between us. We did not avoid one another, or seek one another out. We did not blush in one another’s presence or antagonize one another. We did not stutter in our dealings or touch one another at all. We were just . . . quiet. And slow. If he asked me a question, it took me longer than usual to make my response. When he walked by me, it was with carefully measured steps.

It was one week to the day. I caught his elbow as we were leaving in one great mass the Hall of Fire.

He jumped. I didn’t say anything, but nodded down the hall. He followed without question.

Once we were alone in the corridor, I stopped. So did he.

I said, “I have four bottles of wine in my room. And a jar of oil. If you’re interested.” And I walked away.

He followed me.

= = = = =

We sat as before, I at my desk and he in the wicker chair. We drank without speaking. For the first glass. Then, I told him, “You’ve been different this week. Not just around me. You’ve been quieter. Why?”

He shook his head. “It’s silly.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Erestor. You know the gossip. About me. You know what they say.” It was almost a question.

“I know what they say,” I agreed.

“It’s not all true. I don’t . . . I’m not . . .”

“You’re not a slut,” I agreed. “But in Imladris, there is little distinction between truth and rumor.”

“I don’t . . .” he agreed. “Not with everyone. It’s not like that. I like sharing my body, but . . .”

I shook my head. “But what?”

“It was different with you,” he whispered, wide blue eyes seeking me out from the frame of golden hair.

I was caught. I was worried. What was he saying? “Different, why?”

“I . . . never take people back to my own room. And, if we make it to theirs, I always ask them . . .”

“What?”

“‘Would you like me to stay or go?’ You . . . you were the first one, to ask me to stay.”

“What does that mean?” I begged.

“I don’t know. You were the first one to ask me to stay, and it was the first time I wanted to. I didn’t want to leave in the morning. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“What are you telling me?”

He shrugged. “It can wait. So,” he leered, looking over at the new bottle of slick oil at my bedside. “What were your plans for the night?”

“Do you want me?” I asked.

He nodded.

“This time, I want you inside me,” I told him.

“It will hurt.”

“That’s okay.” I held up my glass. “This will help.” I nodded at the oil. “So will that.”

“All right.”

We finished our wine, and when we set the empty glasses aside, we stood. With lust and liquor in our veins, we each disrobed and watched the other. We were in bed before I’d taken three breaths.

And the intensity he’d shared with me before was again dulled by the experience of taking him with pain and pleasure into my body. He thrust into me and I did not feel intruded upon or violated. I felt stretched, filled, and I thrilled with it.

This time, I welcomed his huge presence above me. I clung to him for all the world as though he was the only thing to keep me from floating away. And this time, as we stroked toward completion together, we did not kiss and we did not let our bodies take over. I saw and felt the sweat in droplets over all his skin as he maintained this solid rhythm, almost slow. And through the whole of it, we maintained the contact of our eyes. Once it started, I hardly dared to blink, let alone close my eyes to the sight of him looking into me. His eyes. My eyes. That’s how we came.

And, of course, I asked him to stay.

= = = = =

And for once, the rumor-mill overlooked Glorfindel’s forays, preferring instead to cycle whispers of love, a forbidden love, between Elrond’s sons. And though I never spoke to them on the matter, and though they never publicly displayed anything other than brotherly affection, I hoped with all my heart the rumors were absolutely true.

It was only after all incestuous fire fled the wagging tongues that the people of Imladris returned their attentions to the resident hero and his bedroom escapades.

It was with an underlying sense of awe that I realized our lives were changing. For all the bed partners he’d ever had, I was the only one repeatedly returned to.

For all the experience I’d never had, I knew I was falling in love.

And it was good.

Glorfindel and I never really talked.

For someone who so embraced logic and schedule and understanding, I -- remarkably -- said nothing.

We entered a relationship without defining its barriers. I didn’t realize at the time how foolish we were. Fortunately, we never had to pay for that foolishness. Glorfindel forsook all others in favor of me.

And, aside from the thoughtless words shouted in half-coherency at the heights of passion we frequently shared, we never said that we loved one another. It was, strangely, accepted as given.

It had started with a game. Or, as I was beginning to suspect, it had started when we met. That must be when love always starts, that must be when the threads of lovers first are woven together. Entwining into something that can never fully unravel. The game merely tied those first irreversible knots.

And though I was never again enticed into any sort of game that involved questions or liquor, I grudgingly allowed myself to be thankful that I had played that first time.

I was glad we never had to blame the wine after all.

= = = = =

The End


End file.
